


what a wicked thing to do

by sebstanau



Series: this tired white flag [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Break Up, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Crying, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecure Bucky Barnes, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebstanau/pseuds/sebstanau
Summary: He slowly awoke, his eyelashes fluttered opened. He had a warm, lazy smile placed open his face, which falters slightly after seeing Bucky’s expression. “What’s wrong?” He questioned in such a small voice, it was almost like he was the small, scrawny, teen back in Mr. Bradley’s classroom. Bucky hated that voice.He hated it so much that he just shook his head, and plastered on one of the most believable fake smiles he could make. “Nothing, just thinking.”“Okay.” Steve had mumbled in return, snuggling closer into Bucky’s chest.And oh, how it made Bucky feel so warm. But there was something off about it that made Bucky’s heart hurt.or: the reasoning behind bucky being a shit to steve





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a half ass low quality shit work that I quickly finished bc I was tired of it sitting in my google docs unfinished,,, i apologize,, don't hate me
> 
> also all the tw are in the tags, don't read if it might hurt you
> 
> but it will hurt u anyways cos. its like shitty. super shitty  
> btw i also didn't like. edit it. dkm.

When Bucky first met Steve Rogers he swore it would be the most important day of his life.

He was in middle school, the seventh grade to be exact, and he had always been in the same school system with all the same kids.

For fuck’s sake, his elementary school was _across the parking lot_ , and his high school was in the _same goddamn building_.  

Basically, he was used to going to school with the same group of people, in the same area, all of his life.

Until Steve Rogers entered Mr. Bradley’s second-period English class.

He was scrawny, with pale skin and rosy cheeks but he was so _beautiful_. He waltzed into the classroom with a breeze of confidence, no matter his smaller figure. He hadn’t flustered or stumbled through his words awkwardly when he had to introduce himself to the class, his words flowing through his voice with such low viscosity. Bucky was mesmerized.

Bucky knew right away that he had to be his friend, if nothing more. He was always in love with Steve, ever since he saw his bright smile, rose ridden lips, and his deep blue eyes.

Lucky for Bucky, _yes he knew that rhymed and he regrets thinking it,_ Steve sat right next to him, where the only empty seat had been. Halfway through the period, Steve asked where he was going for lunch and that was that.

Steve was truly the only person he’s ever been in love with, and it scared Bucky to think that he would only _ever_ be in love with Steve.

Especially after he knew he fucked everything up.

 

*****

 

Bucky Barnes hates himself.

He hates himself for always fucking things up, especially when he knows those ‘ _things’_ are _good_ for him.

That thing, in particular, was Steve Rogers.

He knew what he was doing, the signals he was sending, how he was _acting_ but he also knew why he had to do it.

Why he had to fuck up the one good thing going for him.

Bucky made the revelation the morning after their anniversary.

He was laying on his back, Steve fast asleep and curled up to his chest. He was lazily playing with Steve’s hair, and he thought, _wow, his hair is as golden as he is. He couldn’t believe that he’s the only one that gets to him like this._

And that branched into, _oh fuck, is he holding him back?_

His old insecurities flooded to the surface after many years of burying them under concrete. Bucky swore that the concrete had completely dried down, it was rock hard and too dense for any old emotions to be discovered.

He was wrong.

He doesn’t know why it took him two _goddamn years_ to figure it out, but once he realized it, he it was certain. He was not good enough for Steve Rogers.

Sure, any sane person wouldn’t let a simple insecurity fuck up the only thing good they have going for them. But it wasn’t _just_ that.

It was more like a snowball effect, something that started out small and more and more things kept being added to it.

Before Bucky knew it he was being suffocated by that snowball and he couldn’t handle it. But that was something for later.

Right now, after the thought popped into his brain, it was almost as if Steve _knew_ something was off with Bucky.

He slowly awoke, his eyelashes fluttered opened. He had a warm, lazy smile placed open his face, which falters slightly after seeing Bucky’s expression. “What’s wrong?” He questioned in such a small voice, it was almost like he was the small, scrawny, teen back in Mr. Bradley’s classroom. Bucky hated that voice.

He hated it so much that he just shook his head, and plastered on one of the most believable fake smiles he could make. “Nothing, just thinking.”

“Okay.” Steve had mumbled in return, snuggling closer into Bucky’s chest.

And _oh_ , how it made Bucky feel so _warm._ But there was something off about it that made Bucky’s heart hurt.

 

****

 

A few weeks later, and Bucky was tired. He was so fucking _tired._

When he wasn’t at work (which, he means, he was basically _always_ at but that’s beside the point), he couldn’t bring himself to be near Steve. At all.

He was always fucking on edge and uncomfortable and he was so tired of it. Because Steve was supposed to be the one person he could bare his soul to without feeling vulnerable.

Instead of being near Steve when he doesn’t need to be, he’s at the bar with Natasha or his coworkers.

“So, what the fuck is up, Barnes?” Natasha interrogated him, her vibrant hair reflecting the lights from the ceiling. Bucky gulped.

“What do you mean?” He tried to deflect, but he knew it wasn’t going to work. This _was_ Natasha after all.

“Well, I’ve been trying to force you to come out and drink with me for the past like two years, but you always spend your free time with loverboy. I’ve seen you more this month than I did the entire year of 2015. ” She declared, with her eyebrow quirked up. She paused for a moment. “I think I’ve seen you _drunk_ this month more than I’ve seen you drunk our entire friendship.”

Fuck. Bucky couldn’t come up with an excuse for _drinking more._ Sure, without the drinking, he could’ve just said he wanted to make sure he didn’t drift away from his friends or some bullshit. But hanging out with your friends doesn’t always entail getting shitfaced, especially when you’re over the age of 22.  So. Fuck.

“I don’t know?” Bucky offered with a shrug and sheepish expression. Natasha stared at him. “Okay _fine_. I’m just reevaluating my life, I guess.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. It was actually more honest that he’d meant to be, when he thought about it.

Natasha gladly took it as an answer, replying with a simple, “Okay, but if you drink yourself into your grave, or even attempt to, I will resurrect you back to life and kill you myself.” Bucky smiled.

In ‘Natasha talk’, it translated into, “I care about you and I will support you but don’t harm yourself.”

It was pretty sentimental of her, actually.

 

*****

 

Bucky knew he was starting to fuck up when he started to lie to Steve.

It started with small white lies, things that wouldn’t matter. “ _Stevee,_ _I’m going down to the offices for a bit. I’ll try to do the laundry later.”_ He _knew_ he wasn’t going to do the laundry but, who cares? It wasn’t a big deal.

Then it became, “ _No, I wasn’t drinking.”,_ “ _Steve, you know I haven’t smoked since college.”,_ and “ _Yes, I promise I’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”_

Slowly it progressed to Bucky telling his boyfriend, _“Yeah work needs me to come in again.”_ Almost every night. But, _of course, because he couldn’t possibly get anymore cliche,_ he wasn’t really going to work.

Bucky was going down to the bar, sometimes accompanied by his coworkers, or Natasha, sometimes even alone. Bucky’s not sure why he needed to lie to Steve.

No that’s a lie. He knew exactly why.

He wasn’t _good_ enough for Steve. He could barely even spend _(waste)_ Steve’s time, when he knew Steve could be doing something, _someone_ , better.

So, Bucky started getting drunk. A lot.

_(It doesn’t count if nobody knew. It didn’t count if they had no idea how much Bucky needed to feel that burn at the back of his throat, needed to feel fucked out of his mind. It distracted him from the fact that the one person who needs would be better off without him.)_

But he had it in control, he promised.

And that was what he kept reminding himself as he was throwing back drinks for the fourth time that week. It was only Thursday.

He was at the bar, The Black Pigeon, with nobody but himself, some vodka, the bartender, and his thoughts.

He was almost done his drink, downing most of it in one sip, when he ordered more. “Can I get a, um fuck, a vodka tonic? I think?” He slurred. He wasn’t really sure what number drink he was on right now, but honestly? He didn’t fucking care.

The bartender raised his eyes. “Are you sure, buddy? Do you have anybody to take you home after?” He questioned, _trying_ to be polite. Fuck him.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and although it made him vaguely dizzy that didn’t stop him. “Listen here,” He paused, focusing on his nametag. “ _Clint,_ I’ll have you know. I have _many_ people, I have Dum-Dum, I have Natasha, I have Ste-”  

Bucky choked up at the end of his sentence. He _didn’t_ have Steve. How could he have Steve when he could barely even _speak_ to him? Couldn’t even be in the same room as him?

He didn’t even realize he was crying _(and oh fuck that was so embarrassing, he was crying in the middle of the bar. He bet his grandmother would_ not _be proud, god rest her soul)_ until the tears splattered on his shirt.

“Hey, hey, buddy?” Somebody called out to him. It took a couple moments for Bucky to blink away his tears and clear his vision before realizing it was the bartender. “You said you were friends with Natasha? Romanov?” Bucky nodded.

The bartender, _Clint, Bucky remembered,_ ran over to the phone. He couldn’t hear him speak, too drunk and too goddamn upset to pay attention.

He doesn’t even realize he was being ushered out of his seat, being pulled out of the bar. “Bucky, James. _Yasha.”_ He didn’t realize Natasha had him in her arms, let alone was trying to get his attention. Bucky wiped at his eyes.

“Yeah?” He slurred. He felt so fucking tired.

“We’re gonna head back to my place, okay? And we’re talking about this in the morning.” She snapped with finality piercing through her words.

He was being pushed into a car, and he assumed Natasha was strapping him in. He rested his head against the window and shut his eyes.

He was tired.

 

\------

 

He woke up the next morning feeling emotionally spent, with a pounding headache, in a bed that was not his.

It took a couple seconds for him to place his surroundings before he realized that he was at Natasha’s.

As soon as he realized where he was, he started to remember hazy snippets of the night before and shut his eyes.

He closed them as tightly as he could. Maybe when he opened them again, it would’ve all been a weird dream. The past few months with all the fucking heartache, fuck-ups, and insecurities will all be a dream.

He opened them again. Nope. He’s still at Natasha’s, still a fuck up.

Seems to be how things are going nowadays.

 

\-------

  


Bucky knows by this point he was already on the track of fucking things up. But maybe, just maybe, he could try to fix it.

He was wrong.

Ever since that Friday morning at Natasha’s house, he felt like he had a wake-up call. A voice screaming in his head, _“Don’t you see? Either you spend the rest of your life like this or you get your fucking shit together.”_

So, Bucky started to try. He tried to be better, for him, for Steve. The past few nights he did little things to help out around the apartment, he had a few proper conversations with Steve, he even started sleeping in the same bed as him more often.

Which sounds a lot easier than it was.

Unlike three months ago, being next to Steve wasn’t making it easier to sleep. He feels so fucking tense, wrapped up in Steve’s arms. If he could just get his brain to _shut up_ for one moment, maybe he would relax. Maybe.

But his brain hadn’t stopped whispering insecurities into his ear since their anniversary.

He was currently on his side, facing the wall, with Steve beside him. Steve’s arm was wrapped around Bucky’s waist, it was like Steve was holding onto him for dear life.

Bucky wasn’t asleep. Far from it, actually. But he decided that maybe if he closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, he might be able to fall asleep after a while.

Then Steve started talking.

“I know you’re asleep Buck, but I, I just. I need to get this off my chest.” Steve starts. Bucky inhales sharply. “I may not have the power to save you from whatever is happening right now, but I promise. I’ll still be by your side.” He mumbles into Bucky’s hair, sounding half asleep. ve

“Whatever’s happening right now, we’ll get through it. Together. I promise Bucky.” Bucky tried to stay as still as possible, try to make it not known that he was choking on the tears he wanted to let out. Steve continues, chuckling quietly. “Fuck, why can’t I say this when you’re awake?”

He didn’t deserve this. Bucky didn’t deserve this.

_(And he truly didn’t. He’s spent the last three months treating Steve like complete shit and he knew he was but he didn’t fucking know what else to do.)_

He waits for the signs that Steve’s asleep, the soft snoring and evening of breath, to carefully untangled himself from his boyfriend.

His breathing was coming in fast, his heart was pounding. He walked down into the kitchen and began to pace around.

His mind was all over the fucking place and he didn’t know what to do. He sat by the island for a few moments, trying his hardest to control his breath. It only made him feel like he was suffocating, with the harsh beating of his chest.

He walked to the sink, and splashed his face with the coldest water the tap gave. He gave himself a couple seconds before he calmed down.

He wiped his face with his arm and grabbed a cup from the cupboard. He got the bottle of vodka and poured himself a drink.

It was only 10:00 in the night, but he knew it was going to be a fucking long night.

 

\------

 

Things didn’t get better.

Things never got better.

Bucky got tired of this game. Got tired of playing back and forth.

Got tired of fucking up, tired of hating himself, tired of fighting.

Until he broke it off.

It was the worst decision he's ever made.


End file.
